To The Moon
by Maddie19
Summary: Carl Sagan once said that we are made of starstuff. The nitrogen in our DNA, the calcium in our teeth, the iron in our blood were all made in the interiors of collapsing stars. So maybe that's where we return. We go back to being stars.
1. It's Gonna Be An All-Nighter

1\. It's Gonna Be An All-Nighter

"Are we there yet?" he asks.

"Not quite." She stares straight ahead, hands firmly on ten and two. She's driving. She always drives. "Check the GPS," she quickly peeks in his direction. "I need to know where to turn."

He turns on the device. "Uh oh."

"What's wrong?"

"We were supposed to turn one-point-eight miles ago."

She sighs loudly, pulling a rough U-turn in the middle of the road that has him crashing against the passenger door of their company car, clutching dearly to his seat belt.

"This is absurd," he comments after a tense moment, frowning down at the RECALCULATING message, a digitalized hourglass turning itself over and over on the blue screen. "We are scientists. We should not be outsmarted by simple technology. Simple _and_ ancient technology, might I add."

"Well, it's pitch black outside and there are no streetlamps or signs, and I'm afraid neither of our doctorates were specialized in topography. This house is right next to a lighthouse, is it not?" She brakes and squints through the windshield, searching for the turn they somehow missed.

"That is what the woman on the phone said," he nods. "However, I believe it is no longer functioning."

"How convenient," she mutters.

"It's actually rather inconvenient if you ask me." She deadpans at him, and he offers a sassy smirk in return.

"Ah, there it is." She finds the missed turn obscured by some shrubbery and overgrown trees (no wonder) and turns onto a dirt path. After about a quarter mile, the GPS speaks up: "The destination is on your right."

"Turning right would have us plummeting several hundred feet into the Pacific Ocean," he says skeptically to the machine in his hands. "So forgive me if I object to that proposal."

"I don't understand," she frowns. "Where is the house? You typed in the correct address, right?"

"Of course I did," he retorts, offended.

"Then where is it?"

"Wait," he says. "Keep going. I think I see something further down the cliff, beyond those bluffs. To the right."

"I thought turning right would have us plummeting to our doom." She mocks.

"Well, don't turn ALL the way right. Just a little right."

"You mean a forty-five degree angle as opposed to a ninety degree?"

"Yes," he says slowly. "That is what I mean."

"All right." Slowly, she moves the car onto even more uneven ground. Driving through the mountains at night is usually a bad idea. "It is rather steep here," she says, nervous. "I sure hope you're right."

"I'm always right," he answers sternly. She does, however, happen to look over and see him once again white-knuckling his seatbelt.

They are driving right alongside the cliff's edge, nothing but some weedy grass and a less-than-sturdy-looking wooden fence between them and a fatal drop to the ocean far, far below. No lampposts to light their path. Not to mention they are going down a sharp incline and the car is practically accelerating itself.

However, the path soon evens out to a grassy knoll, and once beyond a dense cluster of bramble and wildflowers, they can see a part of the cliff which juts much farther out. They both gasp at the abruptness of seeing a large plateau of land so suddenly.

"This is it?" he asks.

They roll to a stop, headlights shining their golden cones onto a stately house. Down the hill the path ends at an abandoned lighthouse, a tall silhouette against the moon-lit sky. Very close to the cliff's edge sits a gazebo, a small table with two chairs inside. The house itself is closed off, uninviting. White, stacked stone exterior, gray roof. Magnificent, multi-story windows. A tall, arching entrance. Ornate spandrels and fretwork. A dying person inside.

"This is it," she affirms with a stoic face. She turns off the car and opens the door. "Get the equipment."

He hefts a rather large metal suitcase from the trunk, heavier than it looks, and follows his fellow scientist through the tall, swaying grass to the front door. She knocks three times, then stands aside and waits. They wear matching expressions of impassivity, just-another-day-on-the-job faces, and white coats, their company name embroidered on the front: Sigmund Co.

With no immediate answer from inside, he sets the equipment down by his feet. "Who on _earth_ would build a home with beautiful picture windows only to cover them up with drapes? Kind of defeats the purpose, doesn't it?"

She glances down at her wristwatch and sighs.

"This will be a long night. I can feel it." A moment passes, and she looks up. She sees the sky stretched taut above her, indigo laced with sequin stars, and she takes in a deep breath. No porch light, no working lighthouse, and covered windows. The only source of light comes from the moon and it's bright enough to illuminate the entire cliff and cast a strip of sparkling light across the ocean. For some reason, she finds herself staring at it a moment longer than she normally would.

Later, after they'll have finished this assignment and have moved on to another, she will look back at this moment with heavy profoundness.

"An all-nighter, for sure," he agrees.

"I know."

Inside, just faintly, they can hear piano music.

"Oh, for crying out loud." He steps forward and bangs hard on the door.

"Coming!" a female voice finally calls. The music stops. Or maybe they imagined it. Seconds later they pin on their cheerful smiles for a small woman – early-thirties, no makeup, hair pulled into a dark bun – standing in the doorway, which seems to be nothing but a prism of gold light.

"Hi, I'm Lily. We spoke on the phone. Thanks so much for coming at such a late hour." Her voice drops to a low murmur. "I'm afraid he doesn't have much longer."

"I'm Dr. Eva Rosalene, senior memory traversal agent of Sigmund Corporations." The female scientist extends her hand. "This is my colleague, Dr. Neil Watts, technician specialist."

"Not as fancy of a title, but trust me, I do all the heavy lifting, and not just physically," Watts gives Rosalene a wink.

"So nice to meet you both. Please come in. Let me introduce you to my kiddos." She disappears into the other room as Rosalene and Watts stand in the open doorway, sharing a look of alarm.

She clutches his arm as he bends to lift the equipment. "It's a _child?_ " she whispers.

He gives her a grim smile. "It had to happen sooner or later, right?" They follow Lily into what appears to be a formal den. It is immaculately clean. Minimalist, but elegant. Wooden floors so polished you can see your reflection. Gray curtains, gray love seat and armchairs, all equi-distant and organized to fit the room perfectly.

In the corner of the room two children sit together on the bench of a shiny grand piano, both looking more than healthy and spry, although you can never be too sure. Rosalene and Watts have never had to work with a child before. And they hope they won't have to start today.

"This is my daughter, Sarah, and this is my son, Tommy," Lily beams. "They're twins. Aren't they the cutest little things you've ever seen?"

Rosalene and Watts offer clinical smiles.

"Please, sit down," Lily orders. "Can I offer either of you a hot beverage? Tea? Hot chocolate? Coffee?"

"No, thank you," Rosalene declines.

"I don't mean to be rude, but we're already getting a late start tonight." Watts chuckles. "I assume our client is upstairs?"

"Oh, he's with his doctor right now. It shouldn't take too long. Please, sit."

The two scientists share the love seat, adjacent to the two small children, who are giving them both humongous grins. Lily takes an armchair.

"So," Rosalene begins after a moment, "What can you tell us about him?"

"Oh, well, not much, I'm afraid. I became his caretaker about five years ago. He really hasn't told me much. He's an extremely private man. He's widowed, I do know that. His wife died about fifteen years ago. He hardly speaks about her. No children." She pauses with a smile. "He really is a charming old geezer, if perhaps a little abrasive and time-worn. But what sixty-year-old man isn't, I suppose."

Watts watches her expectantly, waiting for her to resume. "That's it? That's all you know about him?"

"Be polite," Rosalene hisses.

"I'm sorry, but I do believe the mail carrier would know more about our client than this woman. Perhaps we should consult with _him_."

" _Stop."_ She gives him a pointed look. "Lily, perhaps you have some questions for _us_? We understand that this procedure can be a little strange for most people to grasp."

"I do, actually," Lily responds tightly. "I guess I don't quite understand… how it works. You can somehow… _create_ memories in someone's brain that never really existed?"

"Basically, yes. It's a technology that has been around for many years now, though I suppose it's still fairly new. By the Ethics Code, we can only experiment on individuals with not much time left to live. Many people therefore seek it as a wish fulfillment service when they know they are about to pass. So, to put it simply, we go in and create artificial memories in the client's brain, whatever memories they request. They then are able to pass happily and contented."

"And we are able to collect data on the technology to help further advance it," Watts adds.

"He is adamant about this procedure," says Lily, "Has been following the research and development for years, he said. He is a very smart old man. Very interested in all those… _science-y tech-y_ things."

"Oh dear lord," Watts mutters beneath his breath.

Rosalene shoves him. "Would you happen to know of his request for the procedure?"

"Oh yes," she smiles. "He wants to go the moon, though he has said he isn't sure why."

"The moon!" Watts exclaims, "They aren't getting any easier, are they, Eva?"

"That's what he says he wants," Lily answers with a shrug. "Yet another thing he's rarely divulged, though I have spotted him many times at the cliff's edge, staring up at that thing. I knew better than to tell him to get back inside, that it's way too chilly out. I just let him be."

Rosalene and Watts both nod understandingly.

Sarah turns to her mother. "Will he wake up soon, Mommy? Tommy and I wanna show him how good we're getting at the song he taught us." She turns to Rosalene and Watts. "Tommy and I are real good at the piano. Do you wanna hear us play?"

Lily interjects, flustered. "Maybe another time, honey. It's past your bedtime. Why don't you and your brother go up and get your jammies on and pick out a book? I'll be there in a minute to read."

The little boy perks up. "Can we read The Little Engine That Could?"

"Of course. But you must go right now."

The three adults watch as the little scamps hurry up the stairs, racing each other to the top.

Lily smiles apologetically. "I'm sorry. They're seven, so they don't quite understand the situation yet. I'm still trying to figure out a way to tell them. I mean, they see him as an uncle. He's really the only father figure they've ever had."

"Well, you better find a way soon," Watts scorns.

"Yes, well," Lily says. "If you're both ready, I think it's about time you meet the old devil."

"Yes," Watts agrees emphatically, popping up. "Let's get the ball rolling while we're all still young."

Lily makes a start up the stairs, so Rosalene takes the opportunity to smack Watts's arm. "You are so unprofessional."

He winks. "That's why you love me."

On their way up the stairs, Watts nudges Rosalene. "Hey, does watching me carry this heavy suitcase up a flight of stairs with only one arm turn you on?" He performs a few curls for added effect.

She rolls her eyes. "Don't make me gag."

Lily pauses at a door at the end of the hall. She pushes it open and steps quietly inside. "How is he, doctor?"

A wise-and-kind-faced man addresses the trio with a sad smile. "It won't be much longer, Lily. But the old man is stubborn, don't forget that. It could be another day. Maybe two."

Rosalene and Watts gasp as they turn their attention to the man of the hour, lying on the left side of a large bed and hooked up to an IV and heart monitor. The gray comforter is pulled up to his shoulders. He lies like a man in a coffin. His skin is the color of soy milk. He has gray, bushy eyebrows, set in a look of deep concentration though he is unconscious. Lily approaches the bed and leans close. She tenderly pushes his hair away from his tall forehead.

"Dr. Cooper?"

* * *

 **AN: So anyone reading this is probably wondering where the heck this is going. Why is Sheldon so old? Where is Amy? Where is everyone else? Who are all these random people? And all I can say is that this will be a different type of story. But you will still see all the familiar characters in Sheldon and Leonard's apartment, and the majority of this story will take place in flashback.**

 **This fanfic is actually based on my absolute favorite 16-bit video game. It has a crazy good story and a type of story that Sheldon and Amy and the rest of the gang fit into so easily. There are a lot of similarities. I wanted a lot of things to stay true to the original story, like some of the names for example. However, there will be huge changes to the storyline as well. I've thought long and hard about how I'm going to do this, and I think I've come up with a storyline that is genuine with both the original story of the video game and Shamy's love story.**

 **Just a disclaimer: This story will definitely be very sad at times, so if that's not your kind of thing it might not be the kind of fic for you. But I will work hard to balance the sad moments with levity. It is rated M for mature language and descriptions of adult themes.**

 **If you'd like to listen to the soundtrack of the original game, you can go here: watch?v=Snl67XsI6Is  
**


	2. Tour Guides

2\. Tour Guides

"Dr. Cooper," Watts turns to gape at Rosalene. "Dr. _Sheldon_ Cooper?"

Lily rights herself. "You know him?" She shares a look of confusion with the doctor.

"Perhaps you have to be in the science community," Rosalene tries to explain, flustered. Frankly, she's a tad star struck. "Among our people, Dr. Cooper is a household name. He's a world-renowned physicist. My goodness, I had no idea _this_ was our client."

"Yes, I did know that he was some kind of scientist. I didn't know what kind exactly. He never spoke about that, either."

"You're kidding," Watts says, astonished. This wasn't the Sheldon Cooper he was familiar with back in the day.

"Not at all," she shakes her head.

"Actually, we haven't heard a thing from him in about, what is it, ten years? Would you say so, Neil?"

"Hmm, seems about right."

"Yes, pretty much ever since his wife passed, he's gone off the grid. You remember Dr. Amy Farrah Fowler, don't you, Neil?"

"Oh yes. Of course."

Lily frowns. "He never mentioned his wife's name to _me._ "

"They were considered to be the new Pierre and Marie Curie," Rosalene smiles. Lily gives her a blank look. "Um, they were a very famous married couple who were huge pioneers of science back in the day."

"I see," her frown deepens.

"Well, I do believe I'll be heading on my way," the doctor speaks up. "I will be on call if anyone needs me."

"Goodnight, doctor," Lily places her hand gently on the dying man's shoulder. Watts notices her melancholy.

"So… he really never said why he wanted to go to the moon?" he asks. "Generally, we like to have a bit of knowledge behind the motivation of our clients' final wish. Makes our jobs a little easier."

"Like I said, he didn't even know why himself," she says helplessly. "I never thought to ask why when I still could. Then again, it's doubtful he would have told me. He never told me anything. I knew he was a scientist. I assumed he was some kind of astronomer or something and had an interest in that sort of thing. But I suppose not?"

Watts frowns and shakes his head.

"Frankly, I would assume Dr. Cooper would choose winning a Nobel as his wish," he says. "Everyone knew how much he wanted that. It's a shame it never happened for the old fella. I was always pulling for him."

"People change. Their wishes change," Rosalene adds quietly.

"I suppose you're right."

"I'm terribly sorry that I'm of no help," sighs Lily. "Perhaps you'd like to take a walk through the house? Maybe you'll find something that will give you the insight you need. Maybe have a look through his office? During my cleaning I've noticed he's been writing a kind of memoir or something. I never thought to try reading it. His terminology has always gone way over my head."

Rosalene and Watts share a look. "What do you think?" Rosalene asks. "You want to have a look around?"

"Couldn't hurt, I suppose," he shrugs. "You'll set up the equipment?" Admittedly, he was pretty giddy about the thought of looking around.

She sighs. "Yes, dear."

"Then I'll be back in a jiffy." Watts lets himself out of the door. At the top of the stairs he can once again hear the piano music he and Rosalene heard outside. As he enters the den he can hear it more clearly. It is quite beautiful. He lingers a moment in the doorway to listen to the little urchins, now don in matching pajamas.

He gives them an enthusiastic applause when they finish. "Bravo! Not too shabby for a couple youngins. Where did you learn to play like that?"

Tommy grins. "Uncle Shelly taught us!"

"Oh right, you mentioned that earlier… Funny, I never imagined Dr. Cooper to be a musician," he mutters, more to himself.

"Uncle Shelly can do anything!" Sarah exclaims. "You should try his sourdough bread. It's yummy!" She rubs her rounded stomach for emphasis.

"Did you know Uncle Shelly built this house?" Tommy asks.

Watts gives him a dubious smile. "You're pulling my leg now."

"It's true!"

"He had helpers," the little girl rolls her eyes. "He told us he was the supersizer."

"It's super _visor,_ Sarah."

"Oh right." She turns back to Watts. "He says he had to make sure everybody got the job done right."

"Now _that_ I could believe." Watts leans against the doorframe, crosses his arms.

"He reads to us at bedtime," Sarah tells him. "But lately he can't because he's sick. Mommy has to. He promised he would again as soon as he gets better."

Watts smiles, saddened.

"Our favorite story is The Little Engine That Could," Tommy adds. "That's Uncle Shelly's favorite story, too."

"That's not the _only_ story he tells us, though," Sarah reminds him. "Uncle Shelly tells us _so_ many stories. Even ones about his life!"

"Oh yeah? Like what?" Watts asks.

"We can't tell you," the boy sings. "Uncle Shelly says it's only between us. We aren't even allowed to tell Mommy."

"Oh, I'm sure he wouldn't mind," Watts chuckles. "Hey, I have an idea. How would you two like to be tour guides? Show me around Uncle Shelly's big, fancy house? Would you like that?"

"YEAH!" they both cry.

"Then lead the way!"

The twins stand at their full height and presume their new roles as tour guides. Sarah gives a grand sweeping gesture of the room. "This is the den."

"Ahhh yes," Watts nods with overzealous interest.

He then follows them into the foyer. "This is the foyer." Then into the dining room. "And this is the dining room." Next, the kitchen. "And this is the kitchen."

"Hmm, mmhmm," Watts nods emphatically. "Hey, you guys are doing awesome. But you know what _really_ awesome tour guides do? They point out what things are, but they also give a little extra information, like some interesting anecdote no one else would know but them."

"What's an anecdote?"

Suddenly, Watts feels a sharp pain right behind his left breast. He winces but quickly recovers.

"It's like little stories that took place in these rooms," he clarifies. "I'm sure there are thousands."

Tommy scrunches his face up. "Like what?"

"Like anything! You two have been living here five years, right? So I bet you know this place better than anyone. And I bet Uncle Shelly told you all kind of cool things."

The twins both share a look with each other, befuddled.

It is then that Watts notices two peculiar coffee cups sitting in the middle of the kitchen island, one sky blue and one amber yellow, situated right next to an equally peculiar tea chest. The reason they are peculiar is because they are the only things on the otherwise empty countertops. The kitchen is completely bare: no dishrag, no bowl of fruit, nothing. There's a tea kettle resting on the stove, but that's it. The tea mugs and chest are the only signs of life in an otherwise lifeless kitchen.

Lifeless _house,_ he thinks to himself, as he looks around at the bare furniture and walls.

The twins then lead him into the living room. "This is the living room," Tommy recites. "It's where you sit and watch TV and play video games."

Watts smiles and shakes his head. This is going to be more difficult than he thought. "I've noticed Sheldon sure likes the color gray."

Tommy adds, "Fridays are vintage video game nights. Uncle Shelly plays Super Mario Brothers and the Legend of Zelda with us. Majora's Mask is my favorite. It's Uncle Shelly's favorite, too."

"That's very interesting, thank you," Watts says. Not the kind of thing he had in mind, but it's a start.

Sarah opens a door that reveals a staircase. "This goes down to the basement. Down to a secret room. No one is allowed in there."

This immediately piques Watts's interest. A secret, no-trespassing room is exactly where he needs to be if he wants more insight on Sheldon's wish. "Oh, I bet it would be okay if we just have a tiny peek."

Sarah shakes her head ardently. "No. Uncle Shelly will get mad if he finds out."

Watts exhales, rubbing his stubble. These kids are in for a huge devastation.

"Hey," he says, as gently as he can. "You know Uncle Shelly is… _really_ sick, don't you?"

"Yes…" Tommy says. "But he'll be better soon. He told us."

"He _promised_ ," Sarah adds.

"I know, but—"

"And we can't go into the secret room. He will get so, so mad."

"Yeah, one time he caught us trying to go in there. He yelled and shooed us away. He locked the door, but _I_ saw where he hid the key," Tommy boasts, smiling proudly at his sister. "It's under Gollum."

Watts squats down to their level. "Have I told you guys yet what I do?" They both shake their heads. "I'm a scientist, just like Shelly. And I'm here to help him. And going into the secret room will help me help him. Do you understand?"

 _I probably should not say that,_ he thinks. _It will just give them the impression I'm going to help him get better. But I'm running out of options, and frankly, I've done worse._

The twins both exchange doubtful looks and a shrug. "Okayyy…" Sarah concedes. "But if he finds out, we had nothing to do with it."

"He won't find out," Watts assures them, the weight of that statement like a boulder in his stomach. "Now," he says, standing up. "Where is this Gollum you speak of?"

"It's in the office." They walk down a hall into a room that leaves Watts awestruck. He lingers in the doorway, taking it in. It's everything he imagined Sheldon Cooper's office to be, and at the same time, nothing like he imagined.

On one wall is nothing but bookcases, filled with every physics and biology text possible. Another wall is covered in picture windows, again covered in long gray drapes. Two gray reading chairs sit in front. And on the third wall, twin desks are pushed right next to each other, on them computers which look like they haven't been turned on in several months. Lastly, dry-erase boards hang on the available wall space and even on easels situated around the room. Watts is surprised and a little saddened to see them wiped clean.

"Gollum is on the desk," Tommy points. But Watts is busy studying the framed diplomas on the wall, right next to each other. They both graduated from Caltech University, many years ago.

"Hey, mister."

"Oh, sorry. I'm just a little… overwhelmed. Being here."

"Why?"

"I grew up idolizing these people. No one has progressed the fields of biology and theoretical physics in the past thirty years more than these two."

"Was Uncle Shelly famous?"

Watts smiles. "For people like me, very much so."

"Wow! He never told us that he was famous."

"It's actually very surprising that he didn't. That doesn't sound like the Sheldon Cooper I grew up learning about." He wanders over to his Stevenson award, stares at the picture of him taken perhaps in his late twenties. "He was obnoxious, arrogant, always looking for an excuse to tell anyone about his intelligence and status, and most of the time did so even without an excuse. He's been in every scientific journal since I can remember. I used to listen to his radio interviews, speaking so highly of himself it was impossible not to roll your eyes, as much as I admired the guy."

Watts chuckles. "But the arrogance was warranted, with everything he's done for his field. But gradually, he started doing less and less. And then many years ago he just vanished altogether."

Sarah frowns. "But he's still here."

"I know. I just mean from the public eye."

She continues to frown, her young mind not yet able to grasp what he meant.

Finally, he approaches the desks. Yes, a small figurine of Gollum sits on the corner of the tabletop. But Watts first focuses on a thick journal, the codex Lily mentioned. It somehow seems sacred, filled with all the secrets of one of science's greatest minds. And possibly something else, a side of Sheldon Cooper no one ever knew.

It feels incredibly flimsy, timeworn, though well taken care of. Watts opens to the first page. The script is impossibly small and covers the front and back of every page. And, predictably, it is encrypted. The first entry was from August 14, 1993. The last, September 24, 2042. Three weeks ago.

"Jesus Christ," he mutters.

"I thought you wanted to see the basement," Tommy says impatiently, hand on hip.

Watts closes the book. "I do," he finally says. He sets the book down with some heaviness. He lifts Gollum and, sure enough, finds the key underneath. "Let's go."

He trails the twins down the narrow staircase to the basement. Once at the firmly shut door, he turns the key in the lock and pushes it open.

Tommy feels around the wall for the light switch. Suddenly, the room comes to life.

"Holy fucking shit," Watts says.


	3. We Have to Try

3\. We Have to Try

"Are those _monkeys?_ " Sarah asks.

"I… believe so," Watts replies. It was. Dozens of them. Maybe hundreds. All made from paper, all different colors, some big, some small. The room is empty otherwise. Just a table in the center, covered in these origami monkeys, many spilling onto the carpet.

"What are they doing here?" she asks.

"That's a very good question. Has Sheldon ever mentioned anything about these?"

The twins shake their heads.

Watts sighs. "I figured as much." He clearly wanted them locked away. But... why?

"Monkeys are Uncle Shelly's favorite animal," Tommy then says. "It was Amy's, too."

Watts whips around to look at him. "Sheldon told you about Amy?"

Suddenly, there's a voice at the top of the stairs. "Watts? You down there?" Rosalene.

"Yeah, I'll be right up," he calls, assessing the room once more. He figured coming down to Sheldon Cooper's "secret room" would give him all the answers needed to figure out why he would choose going to the moon as his final wish. But he just feels more confused than before.

At the top of the stairs, Lily scolds her children. "Didn't I tell you two to go get in bed and I'd be right there? You're going to be exhausted for school tomorrow."

"Please don't blame them," Watts cuts in. "I asked them to show me around the house. In fact, I believe they may have some really useful information on Dr. Cooper that can help us do what we need to do. So maybe you can make an exception and allow them to stay up just this once?"

"They have school tomorrow," Lily says again. "Surely they don't know anything about Dr. Cooper that I wouldn't know. He never told anybody anything."

Watts and Rosalene share a look. Tommy then says, "Uncle Shelly made us promise to never tell anybody anything he's ever said. He made us PINKY promise. He'll be super duper mad if he finds out we told."

Sarah nods emphatically.

A moment passes during which no one speaks. Then, Lily says tightly, "Well then it's settled. Come on, you two." She nudges the twins back towards the den and up to the second level.

"Poor lady. She obviously cares a great deal that Sheldon never told her anything about his life, doesn't she?"

"I don't think this is possible, Neil," Rosalene says to him.

He sighs. "But it's Sheldon Cooper—"

"I know. But in order for the procedure to be successful, we have to know the motivation behind the wish. You know that."

"So then we'll analyze his memories. We've done that before. It's easy."

"It's not exactly easy," Rosalene counters. "Besides, if he doesn't even know why he wanted to go to the moon, chances are, we'll never find out either. Analyzing his memories will prove to be a futile effort if it's not there. If it was, he'd remember. This is Sheldon Cooper we're talking about."

Watts's eyes drift over to the open door of the office. The bare whiteboards. The abandoned computers. Books that probably haven't been touched in months. There's a thin layer of dust over everything Sheldon Cooper once stood for. "I still want to try."

Arguing with Neil is like arguing with a brick wall. After ten years working with him, Eva knows this. She briefly shuts her eyes. "Did you find the codex?"

"I did," he says. "It's encrypted."

"We probably wouldn't have found anything useful in it anyways."

"The dates aren't encrypted. The last entry was dated just a few weeks ago. September 24, 2042. The first entry? August 14, 1993."

"Huh, that's quite odd. Why would he begin documenting his life starting at that date?"

"He was thirteen. If I remember correctly, that would have been the time he started college." They reflect on this a moment.

Then Rosalene says, "Well, if we're going to go through with this, we better get started."

So they make their way up the stairs. Back in Sheldon's bedroom, they carefully set up the equipment, load the computer, and hook Sheldon up to the machine which will allow them access to his memories.

"Nice helmet," Lily notes as she reenters the room. "Looks good on the old devil. But are you two sure this is safe?" She frowns as she notices all the different wires poking out of the metal casing surrounding Sheldon's head, which drape over his thin body, across the floor, and ultimately leading to a computer in which the two scientists are typing in a series of prompts.

"Don't worry, ma'am," Watts assures her as he and Rosalene put on helmets which match Sheldon's. "This is completely painless."

"Here we go," Rosalene says, her eyes concealed behind the reflective glass, mouth concentrated in a thin line. "Accessing Sheldon Cooper's first available memory. It appears to be Tuesday, October 20, 1981. I'm seeing what appears to be a mobile home in Houston, Texas. The weather is drizzly."

"1981?" Watts says. "He was less than a year old! Can't we fast forward a bit for the sake of time? I doubt we'll find anything of use before, say, the age of ten."

"He has a plethora of memories to sort through. Jesus, the man never forgot a thing, did he?"

"It doesn't make our jobs any easier, that's for sure." Watts sighs. "I wish there was a way we could pinpoint the memories of most importance."

"This just seems impossible, Neil." Rosalene shakes her head, dejected. "We could be here for hours, days, and never find a single thing of relevance. He has thousands upon thousands of memories here. We can't go through every single one hoping to find _something_ related to going to the moon."

"I don't understand," Lily speaks up. "Why do you have to sift through his memories? I thought you could just go in and implant the memory of going to the moon into his head."

"It's not that simple," Rosalene states. "If we simply insert the memory of him going to the moon with no lead up, his mind will reject it. It would be like if you had a memory of having a child with no memory of getting pregnant, giving birth, and raising that child. Your mind will write it off as untrue simply because it can't find information to support the claim. It's all a little bit technical and controversial and still in theory. But for us to be successful, we have to artificially set up a sequence of memories that will ultimately lead Dr. Cooper to believably go to the moon in his mind. And since he doesn't even know why he wants to go, I feel it may be improbable."

"He set aside a lot of money for this," Lily says irritably. "He's been following the research for a long time. He made me _promise_ him that I would make this happen."

"I understand that," Rosalene replies. "It's unfortunate. And under normal circumstances we could make this happen for him. But considering he has no recollection or reasoning behind his wish, and he has an eidetic memory resulting in thousands of memories to analyze, we'll probably never find what we need to make it successful." She starts removing her headset.

"Wait," Watts says. "Put in August 14, 1993."

"What?"

"The codex, remember? His first entry was August 14, 1993. So it must have been important enough to write about. We'll use the codex. He didn't write in it every single day, so we'll analyze the dates he did."

"Just because he wrote on those days doesn't mean we'll find anything about going to the moon."

"We have to try," he says earnestly.

Rosalene pauses, watching the computer screen, the database continuing to fill up with memories, the scrollbar becoming tinier and tinier. She looks over at Sheldon, like a fragile paper grandpa in his bed, face set in an expression of whatever the opposite of relaxed is. It's like he can't pass until he has this. She doesn't know why he wants this, _he_ doesn't even know why he wants this. The odds seem impossibly stacked against them. But she knows Watts is right. They have to try.

"All right." She places the helmet back on her head, smoothing her thick black hair out of the way. "Accessing Saturday, August 14, 1993. We are in Houston Intercontinental Airport. Let's do this."

* * *

 **AN: Chapter 4 will be posted tomorrow. Thanks for reading!**


	4. Dorm, Sweet Dorm

4\. Dorm, Sweet Dorm

' SigmundCorp–"Copyright and Patent"

Loading…

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EX 0810

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* * *

 **August 14, 1993**

"Okay, Shelly Bean. You got everything?"

"Yes, mom. I've got all my important documents, including but not limited to my birth certificate, Social Security card, vaccination records, and test scores. I've also got all my necessities, including all toiletries, school supplies, and two weeks of clothing, the rest of which you said you will be FedEx-ing along with my comic books. For the plane ride, I've got my Walkman and my set of Richard Feynman lectures on cassette tape. I've also got my to-scale Spock figurine." He pulls it out of his pocket for emphasis.

She nods nervously. "All right then, Shelly. Now, remember to be careful in that heathen land. No drugs, remember?"

"Mom, if I already didn't have plans to be careful, you telling me to be careful would not compel me to be careful."

"Oh, I'm gonna miss you, Shelly. Even despite you saying things like that." She pulls him in for a tight hug. "Missy, George, come say goodbye to your brother."

"I'll miss you, too, Mom," Sheldon says. He exchanges awkward hugs with his brother and sister, who both give him a pat on the back and remind him to be safe and have fun.

"I won't have time for fun," Sheldon retorts, hiking his carry-on bag up on his shoulder. "I'll be too busy changing the landscape of science as we know it."

"I'm sorry your daddy couldn't come to send you off," Mary says. "He loves you, even though it don't always seem it."

"I know," he says. "I should go."

"Shelly, wait."

"What is it, mom?"

"It's just that… are you sure you're feeling okay?"

Sheldon sighs. Yes, it is true he did spend three days in the hospital earlier this week, left unconscious by what he could only assume to be a near-fatal virus generated by his poorly hygienic brother and sister, causing his vitals to drop, resulting in a three-day coma. He _told_ them that going outside is completely irresponsible and reckless. And he recalled George necking under the bleachers with Kristy Purcella just last week. Who knows what kind of diseases were germinating all over their trailer house.

Good riddance, though. He's off to college, to his own personal dorm room (because apparently no eighteen-year-old is interested in rooming with a thirteen-year-old, hmmrph), and in his suitcase he has enough cans of Lysol to kill an elephant. So if his siblings want to continue their devil-may-care behavior, go right on ahead. Turn your immune system into a stamp book of STDs if you want.

"I'm perfectly fine, be assured," he declares.

"Well, make sure you call every day. And don't let any of the older boys try to get you to do anything illegal. We talked about peer pressure, remember? Just… be safe."

"Mom, my flight is boarding soon."

"All right." Her eyes fill with tears. "I love you, Shelly Bean."

"Love you, too, Mom." He allows a tight lipped smile, one that doesn't quite reach his eyes (though they rarely do). He then turns to join the line waiting to go through security, and Mary tip toes above the crowd to watch her thirteen-year-old son disappear, not glancing back once.

* * *

The undergraduate dorms at Caltech University are, in a word, repellent. Sheldon stands at the threshold of what can only be described as a glorified closet. It's dark, smells distinctly of mildew, has one rusted sink, a small desk, a bookshelf, a dresser, and a twin bed and thin mattress.

He starts by dousing every inch of his room in Lysol. As there is no personal bathroom in his dorm, he is forced to walk down the hall and participate in ritual public humiliation as he showers in a communal bathroom amongst twenty or more other males. He sighs to himself, then digs his freshly washed Star War sheets out of his suitcase and begins putting them on the bed.

He then pulls open the blinds on his single window. He is greeted to a charming view of a small basketball court, a wire fence, and three large garbage cans. Six older guys are all playing a game, each one shirtless, sweating, and swearing.

He sits at his desk chair and opens the brand new moleskin journal his mom bought for him as an apology for accidentally throwing his old one away (Oh, the CALAMITY!). It's so new and pristine, the pages stiff and difficult to open. He marks the day and begins writing furiously, describing his suffering of airplane bathrooms, benighted dorm advisors, communal showers, and the obnoxious sound of a ball bouncing against pavement right outside his window.

Next, he carefully dresses in his Saturday pajamas, brushing his teeth at the sink, and climbs into bed, suddenly bulldozed with the realization that his mom isn't coming in to say goodnight and tuck him in. He gulps, rolling over. What is he doing here? He is supposed to be at home, in his bed, with his comic books. That's his comfort zone. How on earth did he ever get the notion he should leave it?

Now, he's hungry, exhausted, and filthy from being on a plane for five hours. His routine is all out of whack. This mattress feels weird. The room smells funny. The walls are thin and he can hear voices, voices which are distinctly not those of his brother and sister, a woe he never thought he'd have. Furthermore, what can be said of the dorm cafeteria? Do they serve oatmeal on oatmeal day? Are the showers sanitary? There's only so much a can of Lysol can do.

A tear seeps into his Star Wars pillow, and he wipes his eyes.

He misses his mother.

* * *

"Well, no sign of wanting to travel to the moon," Watts sighs.

"Just as I suspected," Rosalene agrees.

They remove their headwear, and Watts flips through the codex, which was thoughtfully salvaged from the office by Lily. "There's so many entrees here. He wrote approximately twice per week for forty years."

"Yes, and traversing through over four-thousand memories seems out of the realm of possibility, don't you agree?"

He shakes his head. "I think we should keep going. Perhaps we'll get lucky. The next entree is August 18, 1993. Type it in."

Rosalene sighs and enters the code.

* * *

 **August 18, 1993**

"Think you're some bigshot, huh? The thirteen year-old little boy genius with his own dorm room? What, did your mommy pay extra just to get your big mouth out of her hair?"

"As a matter of fact," Sheldon replies, grimacing as the rather large hand gripping his head smooshes his face further into the bathroom wall. "I was granted a scholarship, a very expensive scholarship. My mother has too meager an income to provide my tuition, and as she's the breadwinner of the family seeing that my father doesn't work, she– AHH! AHH! STOP IT!"

The older boy grinds Sheldon's parietal bone into the cement wall. His friends form a semi-circle around the two, a kind of cage. "What was that?"

"I SAID, my mother is unable to afford my tuition. Therefore, my means of being here involve a highly prestigious scholarship as a result of my extremely high IQ. Not that any of you goons ever heard of such a thing!"

The older boy swiftly knees him in the stomach, and Sheldon collapses to the floor. Oh, the dirty, disgusting floor. The older boy shoves a finger at him. "Look, I don't care who you are or what brought you here. I don't care if you talk like some fucking high and mighty. Doesn't give you the right to go and tell and dorm advisor that I had a girl in my room past curfew."

Sheldon's response comes out in a high squeak. "But it's against the rules. It's clearly written that all females must leave the boys' dorms by ten o' clock sharp."

"What are you, a fucking retard? You got autism or some shit? I don't care how old you are, if you're gonna be in college and live amongst men, you gotta act like a fucking man. None of this baby-gonna-go-be-a-tattletale bullshit."

"How pitiful," Sheldon croaks, pulling himself up against the wall and clutching his sore stomach. "You're allowed admittance to the best technical college in the nation, and instead you spend your time kowtowing to your most basic urges. It's a wonder any of you can operate a mechanical pencil."

The older boys pass around a look. "Listen," the one in charge says. "If you're as smart as you think you are, you'll stay fucking scarce." Sheldon watches them leave, one by one.

Ugh, the germs. The germs! A thousand scorching showers in a row wouldn't be enough to wash away whatever's crawling on this floor… and now him. He immediately pulls his emergency Purell out of his pocket and frantically rubs it into his palms. It's not enough. These clothes will have to be boiled… and then set on fire.

He just can't understand it. Why would he be ostracized for following the rules? Wouldn't members of a dorm community _want_ there to be lawfulness and civility? Or else, the whole place descends into anarchy, and that's never good.

Nonetheless, he's not surprised. People didn't like him in grade school, either. Higher education should be no different. As a more advanced homo-novus, a superior member of society, he's accustomed to being disliked.

That night, he gives his mother a call on the payphone in the hall.

"Hello, Shelly Bean. We just finished supper. How are you doing?"

"I'm fine, mom. How are you?"

"I'm fine, too. I miss you, though, Shelly."

His pauses as a tiny lump forms in his throat. He swallows it away. "I'm sure you must."

"Do you like it there? Are the kids nice to you?"

"Of course, mom. It's everything I was hoping it would be."

"I'm glad to hear that. Thank you for calling, Shelly. You know your mother worries."

"You don't have to thank me. You specifically asked that I call you each night. It's a request I am obligated to fulfill." He closes his eyes.

"Shelly?"

"Yes, mom."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"I just know how you are with change, is all. You had a panic attack when we changed the wallpaper in the bathroom that one time. Just know that things will get better. You'll make friends."

"Mom, I never had any friends before now, why would coming here change that?" He catches himself. Reels himself back in. "Regardless, I'm not here to make friends. I'm here to change the way people view the theoretical framework of space and time."

"Right. My mistake. Just… things will get better."

"Mom," he stares at the wall, at the part-time job listings and the schedule for upcoming events on campus. "I want to apologize for giving you the silent treatment this past week. I was upset that you lost my journal, but I shouldn't have done that, especially right before leaving for college."

"Oh, Shelly. I'm so happy to hear you apologize."

"Good," he says. "Enjoy it. It won't happen often. And you are still incredibly in the wrong for losing one of my most precious possessions."

"I know. And I'm truly sorry. I love you, Shelly."

He squeezes the phone. "I love you, too, mom."

* * *

"That… was kind of depressing," Watts says. "Leaving home is never easy, especially so young."

"Focus, Neil. You know it's unwise to get attached to the lives of our patients."

He smarts slightly. "Well, still no mention of the moon."

"Correct. And how many memories do we have to trifle before you realize this is a pointless endeavor?"

"How can you be so cold, Eva?"

"I'm not cold. I'm logical."

"So, what do you want then? To go home? What, are these late shifts cutting into your beauty rest? I don't know about you, but I'd sleep better knowing we at least _tried._ "

She sighs. "So how many memories is 'trying' to you? Ten? Fifty? A hundred? We could be here until sunrise and not be an inch closer than we are now."

He pauses, deep in contemplation. The monitor hooked up to Sheldon's heart beeps through the silence. Finally, Watts turns to his colleague. "Perhaps we should skip ahead a little bit."

"Oh, Neil–" she places a hand to her forehead.

"Let's see where his mind is at in, say, ten years. Okay?" He flips through the codex again. "Jeez, wouldn't it be easy if we could just _read_ this thing."

"Wouldn't it be easy if our patient just knew why he wanted to go to the moon," Rosalene mutters.

"So, what do you say?"

"You want to skip ahead ten years? What will be so different about 2003 from 1993?"

"Well, were _you_ the same person at twenty-three that you were at thirteen?"

"Touché. I still don't think we'll find anything, though."

"Maybe not. But won't you feel better knowing we left no stone left unturned?"

"Oh, Jesus. Stone number three of four-thousand one-hundred sixty, here we go."


	5. Pulling at Strings

5\. Pulling at Strings

 **May 18, 2003**

Sheldon is sitting at his desk in his office typing up a paper on quantum sound waves and their tendency to stick together when he hears a knock at his door.

"Come," he calls.

A grinning, bespectacled head with dark curly hair pokes inside his office. "Dr. Cooper?" this man meekly says.

"Correct. What do you want?"

The man steps further inside. He is quite short, and he's wearing a hideous argyle vest. "Hi. I'm Leonard Hofstadter. I'm a grad student and doctoral candidate here studying experimental particle physics. I just moved to California and saw your ad that you're looking for a roommate?"

"An acute observation!" Sheldon exclaims. "Yes, it is true that I am seeking a roommate, as I have newly acquired an apartment in Pasadena that I can't afford on my own. Did you come here to quiz me on my own ad, or did you have an additional inquiry?"

Leonard furrows his eyebrows. "Yes. I am interested in renting the apartment."

"Oh!" Sheldon stands up. "Well, you'll be happy to know that you currently have no competition as no one has expressed any interest in being my roommate thus far, for what reason is beyond me."

"Great!"

"But! Before you can be my roommate, you must pass this exam I've drawn up." He goes over to his filing cabinet and pulls out a sheath of paper no less than half an inch thick.

"What?" Leonard blurts, unwillingly taking the exam. "You just said you couldn't afford the apartment by yourself, and you haven't had any offers besides me."

"I am fully aware of what I said just nineteen seconds ago. In fact, I remember what I said at 2:25 pm on March 5 of 1987."

Sheldon watches Leonard's face go through several different emotions, befuddlement being a key one. Sheldon does tend to have that effect on people.

"Ah, okay then. Well turns out I don't have any other options, and I'm rather desperate, so… okay. I'll take the exam."

"Wonderful!" Sheldon smiles at Leonard.

"Great! Heh heh."

"Have it on my desk by 4 o' clock sharp." Sheldon returns to his seat at his computer.

Leonard's face drops. "Surely you don't mean 4 o' clock today? That only gives me just over two hours, and there's five-hundred questions here, plus an essay!"

Sheldon looks up at him quizzically. "You said you were desperate."

"I am."

"Well, these are my parameters. A finished exam on my desk by 4 o' clock or no apartment. Your choice."

* * *

Leonard watches from across Sheldon's desk as he rapidly pages through the exam, red grading pen in hand. It takes all of ten minutes before he caps the pen and looks up at Leonard, challenge in his eyes. "You missed thirty-eight questions."

"Ah, yeah. Well, I couldn't remember the threshold limit value of perchloreothylene off the top of my head, heh heh. And I didn't really understand the series questions about which sounds are best associated with the six noble gases?"

Sheldon breathes in deeply through his nostrils, then slowly releases it, eyes up towards the ceiling. "Well, fortunately for you, you still managed to pass with a ninety-two percent. Congratulations. You have earned the privilege of being my roommate."

"Uhh, thank you?"

"You are welcome. Now, you stated on the exam that you have acquired a driver's license, own a car that's been regularly inspected, and that your driving record is as clean as my bathroom floor. That is, you could eat off of it. Although, if you do, that will earn you two strikes and possible probation."

"Um, okay?"

"So then you are eligible of driving me home." He reaches for his messenger bag. "I'm ready right now."

"Sheldon, I'm sorry, but I can't leave right now. I just spent most of the afternoon on your exam, and I had a lot of research to do today for my dissertation."

"Yes, well, I was writing a paper on the quantum units of vibration before you waltzed into my office, and thenceforth, into my life. Plans change, Mr. Hofstadter." He walks past him and out into the hall.

Leonard sighs and follows him.

Sheldon abruptly turns back. "And xenon _obviously_ is the sound of an egg dropping into a glass of water. How could you possibly miss that?"

* * *

Watts approaches the window and pushes the curtains aside. Rosalene throws him a challenging look. "Have any more ideas?"

"When did they write their paper on the properties of super solids?" He stares up at the sky, as if the shining white circle will somehow answer his questions.

"Err, pardon?"

"Dr. Cooper and Dr. Hofstadter. They wrote a paper on super solids. It received a lot of publicity, from what I can recall."

"Oh, right, um… it couldn't have been too long after they met." She narrows her eyes at him suspiciously. "Why?"

"I don't know, Eva, I'm pulling at strings here." He lets the curtain fall back into place and paces across the room, hand pensively at his chin as he eyes the old man in bed. "I just don't get it. He worked in particle theory for years, eventually moved to dark matter. Hell, he even wrote papers on unsuspected axion clouds in our own solar system. Undoubtedly his entire career had a great deal to do with astronomy, right, but no one can recall a single time that he showed _any_ interest in our puny moon. Not when he was calculating the velocities of elliptical galaxies hundreds of billions of lightyears away! Explain to me how a man notorious for his thirst of winning a Nobel can suddenly covet something so arbitrary and uncharacteristic and honestly… below par to his standards of accomplishments."

Rosalene sighs, looks down at her wristwatch. "Look, it's already almost 11 pm—"

"I know, I know," he waves a hand dismissively in her direction. "You're right. This is hopeless. This is beyond hopeless. We should quit."

"No, I mean… let's keep going." She shakes her head and picks up her headset.

"What?" Watts snaps his head to her. "Why?"

"Because he's clearly a hero of yours. I can see that just from how much you know about him. I mean, it _is_ hopeless. But when are we ever gonna get another chance like this? To traverse the mind and life of somebody so fascinating? Someone you look up to?"

A wry grin sneaks its way onto his face.

"So quit your rambling, and let's continue."

He frowns. "But isn't that abusing the technology? It feels unethical."

"I mean, we're still doing the job we were asked to do. We're just… altering our motivation a bit."

He considers this for a minute, then nods. "Okay, that works for me. At least if I go to hell, you're coming with me."

* * *

 **August 2, 2003**

 _Three months later_

"Okay, Sheldon, I'm going to the bar with Howard and Raj. Don't wait up for me." Leonard crosses through the living room and grabs his keys from the bowl beside the door.

"What on earth is that smell?" Sheldon asks from his lawn chair, his nose wrinkling at the pungent trail of cologne drifting in Leonard's wake.

"It's aftershave. Howard lent it to me."

Sheldon shakes his head in disgust and returns to his comic book.

"You know," Leonard says as he rifles through his wallet. "Howard and Raj would like to actually come up to the apartment sometime. They don't like having to always wait for me in the lobby."

Sheldon throws his head back in exasperation. "What did I say, Leonard? Only when I have procured both a blood sample and vaccination records from your friends and have validated their sanitation shall they be granted permission into my home. Until then, your continual belly-aching on the subject will do you no good."

"Don't you think that's a little crazy?"

"You've lived here two months and fifteen days. You know the rules." He glares up at his roommate. "And _no_. I don't think it's crazy."

Leonard sighs. "Well, see you."

"Goodbye."

Leonard stops at the door as a thought enters his mind. "You don't want to come with us, do you?"

"Why on earth would I want to go with you?"

"Well, I don't know. You'd get to meet Raj and Howard. Have some drinks. Talk to some girls. It would be fun. You… like fun, don't you?"

"If intoxication, loud music, and mindless chatter with the opposite sex is 'fun' then no, I certainly do not."

Leonard ambles over towards this strange man, suddenly intrigued. "Sheldon, you've… had relationships… with girls before, haven't you?"

Sheldon gives him the craziest of looks.

"Or guys!" Leonard quickly adds. "I'm perfectly fine with that. Heh heh."

Sheldon's eyes drift two inches over Leonard's right shoulder. "I've had numerous relationships with girls. My mother and I have an extremely apt relationship, although I fail to accept her lack of understanding over the presence of science in replacement of her precious bible. I can't say the same for my twin sister, Missy, unfortunately." His eyes flick back to meet Leonard's. "Although I have enough experience from my days at college to know that is not what you were referring to."

"It's really okay," Leonard chuckles. "I mean, you're what, twenty-three? Lots of people are late bloomers."

"Late bloomer," Sheldon repeats. "Leonard, I was doing advanced calculus when I was four years old. I began college at the age of thirteen and received my first doctorate at the age of fifteen. In what way is that a _late bloomer_?"

Leonard's mouth falls open. "Nevermind."

* * *

 **November 16, 2007**

 _Four years later_

Sheldon is in a state of extreme agitation. He's spent over four years pruning Leonard into the optimal roommate. He frequently albeit often incorrectly orders foods for dinner. He's compliant in driving him almost everywhere he wants in a safe manner save for that time he accelerated through a yellow light. And he has adhered to a schedule that Sheldon would classify as "getting there but with much room for progress." It's taken quite a bit of time, more than Sheldon would have liked, but Leonard has finally reached a point of behaving somewhat satisfactorily.

However, these past eight weeks, Leonard's performance has really taken a nosedive. His accuracy for getting the food orders correct has depleted to 53.8 percent, he's disregarded Sheldon's attempts to initiate fun, educational games during their commute to work, and now he has interrupted Vintage Video Game Night two Fridays in a row in order to repeatedly set the controller down, get up, and walk to the door to stare out the peephole.

"Do you see anything?" Raj asks.

"Not yet. But I hear giggling. I think she's coming up the stairs."

And why the sudden plunge? A new twenty-one year old blond floozy moved into the apartment across the hall. And Sheldon must say, while she may be "cute, sweet, hot, sexy, beautiful, and the type of girl only found in the sweetest of dreams and the hottest of pornos" (at least, according to Howard and Raj), Sheldon has been unimpressed with her cleanliness, her devil-may-care lifestyle, and her inability to differentiate between the coefficient used to find an area of a circle and the sweet pumpkin dessert eaten on Thanksgiving Day.

"Oh no," Howard says. "Giggling? She must not be alone."

Sheldon crosses his arms and sighs loudly as Leonard once more stands on his tiptoes to look out the peephole. Sheldon glances over at Howard and Raj, who don't seem nearly as irked as he is about this undeniably rude interference of their Super Mario Brothers session. He knew it was a mistake to allow them entrance into his apartment.

Leonard turns away from the peephole to address his friends. "You don't know that. She could be laughing at a joke she heard earlier today. Or maybe she's with a friend, preferably a female friend."

The group of men go silent as her voice loudens outside. Leonard swiftly looks out the peephole and both Raj and Howard skitter towards the door to listen. Sheldon's eyes raise thirty percent towards the ceiling. This is simply beyond his realm of logic.

"Oh no," Leonard moans.

"What do you see?" hisses Raj.

"She's with a guy. He's pretty big. And tall."

"Well, how coiffed is his hair? Maybe he bats for the other team."

"Forget it," Leonard turns away from the door and walks sadly towards the couch. "Let's just keep playing."

They hear her laugh again, sugary and light as air, like cotton candy.

"Come on, man. It's been, what? Two months?" Howard walks towards him. "And you still haven't asked her out?"

"Yes, Leonard," Sheldon begins sarcastically, "Why miss the opportunity to be yet another fatuous Cro-Magnon to be invited into her apartment for a night of mattress-squeaking and Bryan Adams only to never again be mentioned or seen?"

"Are you calling Penny a tramp?" Leonard asks him.

He shrugs indifferently. "I didn't say that."

"Guys, let's just drop it. It's stupid." Leonard picks up the controller.

"If it's so stupid, then why don't you ask out someone else?" Howard asks. "Leslie Winkle sure has been eyeing you a lot lately from across the cafeteria, like what she's really hungry for is a big ole' plate of Hofstadter meat, if you catch my drift."

Raj laughs. Sheldon forms a face of pure revulsion.

Leonard looks down at his fiddling fingers. "No, I don't… it's just…"

"Right," Howard nods. "You can't. Because every night you go to bed and dream of a green-eyed, blond haired angel. You've probably already thought up a million and one fantasies with her. You probably write 'Leonard plus Penny equals heart' on your notes at work."

"Stoppppp," Leonard groans. "Just shut up already. I'll ask her out."

"When?" Raj presses.

"I don't know! Eventually! The moment has to be right. Not when she's with some random guy."

"The chances of catching a spare moment with Penny while she's not with some random guy seem relatively low," Sheldon mutters. All three guys look at him. He deadpans at the television screen.

"I'm going to do it," Leonard assures the group. "And soon. I just need to think of what I'll say. You know, build up my confidence."

 _14 days later_

"I'm going to do it reeeeal soon," Leonard says as he and Sheldon chop up vegetables for a stew. "I promise."

 _6 days later_

"I just talked to Penny while I was getting the mail. She had a bad day at work today. I can't ask her out after she's had a bad day at work."

 _17 days later_

"I'll ask her out after the holidays. It's such a crazy time of year, I'm sure she's really busy."

 _11 days later_

"My allergies sure have been flaring up," Leonard tells a reading Sheldon, who seems too engrossed in his book to have heard him. "I should wait to ask Penny out until after they've cleared, right? No one wants to date someone all… phlegmy."

 _38 days later_

"I'm going to do it really soon. Like really, really soon."

 _56 days later_

"Okay, the next time I see her, I'm just going to do it. I'm just going to ask her out. I mean, so what if she says no? Who cares? At least I'll be able to say I did it." Leonard pulls his inhaler out of his pocket and starts puffing frantically. Sheldon shakes his head at his computer screen.

 _34 days later_

"Okay, this is it. I'm going to do it. I'm–"

Suddenly, they hear knocks on the door. Penny pokes her head inside their apartment. "Hey guys? I was thinking about making a trip to the market for some groceries and then maybe getting a coffee afterwards? Do you guys wanna go?"

Sheldon briefly lifts his head. "I don't drink coffee."

" _Sheldon_ ," Leonard says. "Don't be rude, now. Weren't you just saying that you needed to go to the market?"

Sheldon looks at him queerly. "No," he says matter-of-factly, "I did not. I went to the market four days ago. I do not need to go today."

Leonard gives Penny a nervous laugh. She stands pigeon-toed, expectantly, rolling one sandaled foot on its side. She dangles her car keys in her hands.

"Sheldon doesn't need to go," he gives her a dorky smile.

"Okay," she says brightly. "Well, you can still come, Leonard."

"I can?"

"Yeah, if you want." Her smile is so easy and pure.

Sheldon watches as Leonard's forehead glistens with sweat. "Well, I can't think of a reason why not!"

She smiles again. "Great!"

* * *

 **AN: Sorry this chapter was pretty Lenny-focused. But the Shamy is coming soon, I promise!**


End file.
